


Blind Trust

by The_Female_Gaymer



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, Weapons, they do it in the truck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7083235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Female_Gaymer/pseuds/The_Female_Gaymer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all this time, he still can't trust him. After all this time, Trevor hasn't forgiven Michael for lying to him all those years about Brad, about his death, about everything. Michael desperately wants to change that.</p><p>So he comes up with a plan. A dangerous, stupid, potentially fatal plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Trust

**Author's Note:**

> First fic posted on here, but not first fic ever. Not a veteran, but not a rookie. What the hell do I qualify myself as?

It was a strange text. "Gotta talk face to face. Meet at your trailer, then follow me, gotta be somewhere private." He read it over and over again, as if he could somehow translate the meaning or the urgency behind those few words. He stared at the time it'd been sent- an hour or two ago, which meant the other man was going to be there any second. Sandy Shores was a bit of a drive, anyhow. He looked at the picture of the other man on his phone, frowning as he sat on his porch. He stared and stared, mentally trying to will that old, familiar face and smile to crack to show the human cowering underneath the carefully crafted facade.

Of course, with everything that had transpired between Michael and him a month ago regarding the FIB and Merryweather, Trevor was skeptical. They'd said their apologies under Franklin's command, forgiven each other, even if he still felt Michael was a worthless, selfish piece of shit for lying to his face about everything. Still, that didn't change the fact that he was still wary of his old running buddy. Lies like that defined a man, whether he liked it or not, and Michael's true colors were forever imprinted on the forefront of Trevor's brain. Michael was a snake. Michael couldn't be trusted, under any circumstances. Nothing Michael said was trustworthy or believable. Michael was a man of smoke and mirrors, and needed to be treated as such in any encounter.

He repeated this to himself, even as he found himself doubting- maybe Michael wasn't so bad; he'd only been doing what he could think of to protect his wife and young children at the time, and had shown true regret at what had happened whenever Trevor called him out on it. But then, he reminded himself, in doing so, he'd cast Trevor aside like he was worth nothing, like the years and years they'd worked together meant absolutely nothing, and he felt the bile building up in the back of his throat again. His life- Brad's life- at the end of that day, it'd all meant nothing to him. They were just the scapegoats to his happy ending. He couldn't let his admiration blind him. Michael had apologized, even offered his share of the cut from the Union Depository heist, but that didn't change who he truly was or what he'd done to hurt Trevor. Trevor needed to be wary. Even now, with Michael undoubtedly just around the corner, Trevor knew that he needed to be wary of whatever Michael was coming to tell him.

And Trevor was done falling for his silver-coated lies.

There it was- the black Tailgater, rolling down the street, kicking up a trail of dirt behind it. Trevor stood, galloping down his porch steps and marching to the fence in front of the rundown home. The Tailgater slowed to a halt behind the Bodhi parked in front, and the window descended to reveal those damn green eyes and rounded face, the 5 o’clock shadow creeping in around Michael's jaw.

"Hey, T. Glad I could catch you," Michael said rather solemnly. Trevor only nodded in response. "You can either get in my car or yours, you'll be coming back either way."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Will I be?" he asked tauntingly. "Or is this just a last effort plan to kill me like you'd planned to do back in Yankton? Huh? Am I getting ambushed? Tell me, Michael- why didn't you give me an address, or a bar location like any normal person?"

Michael shook his head- he knew he'd be facing resistance from Trevor Philips when he showed up, but still found himself loathing having to explain things to him like he was a fucking child. "Because it ain't that simple," he informed him with an exaggerated sigh. "Unless, you know, you want fuckin' latitude and longitude. They don't exactly got streets named out in the woods."

"Oh, so you're gonna take me out back, shoot me like a dog, that's what it is then?"

Michael leaned out his window towards Trevor, brow furrowing in annoyance. "I ain't gonna shoot you, T. This ain't no set up. I'm done with that shit- done me more harm than good. I thought we were past this bullshit."

"You may be," the Canadian intoned, "but I gotta hold on. If I don't, then I'm gonna let my guard down, and if I do that, who's to say you won't double-cross me again? Or poor little Frank, hmm?"

Michael stared at Trevor, mouth set in a straight line.

"That's why I'm here."

Trevor had bore a small smirk before, but it left his face now. "Why? What happened to Frank?"

"No, not Franklin," Michael corrected him quickly, even sounding a bit offended that that was the idea Trevor got, "the trust issues. Jesus, first idea you get is that I've done something to the kid? The fuck's the matter with you? We're worse off that I thought. Franklin's fine, Trevor, but this don't involve him. This is about you and me."

Trevor made a mock sound of surprise. "You want to talk about us? As a unit? Not just pointing your chubby little fingers at me? And we have to go to the woods to do this because..?"

Michael's hands tapped on the steering wheel impatiently. "You're just gonna have to trust me," was all the other man said in response. "As hard as that is for you to do, Trevor, you're gonna have to grace me with a little bit of faith for the next few hours or so."

Trevor stared down at Michael over his cheekbones, before finally taking a step back from the fence. "You want to talk to me about trust. You, of all people. Alright then," he groused. "If I really am going to come back from whatever this is alive, I guess I'll take my own truck, if you don't mind awfully so."

"Fine, fine." Michael rolled up his car window, pulling in front of Trevor's truck while waiting for the other man. Once Trevor was seated in his own vehicle, he gave the horn a little tap, and Michael lead the way.

 

* * *

 

They pulled off the main road onto a secluded dirt path, somewhere halfway between Paleto Bay and Sandy Shores. Only once they were well out of sight of the freeway, and their vehicle tires were kissing even the edge of that dirt road, did Michael finally come to a stop. From the back window, Trevor saw Michael rest his head on the steering wheel for a brief moment and shake with a heavy sigh, before he unbuckled himself and stepped out of the car. Trevor followed suit from his own truck, watching the length of his shadow cast before him as the sun began its descent behind them. The trees were, for the most part, soundless above them- it'd been a hot, windless day, but now with night coming on, the temperature dropped every minute they were out there. Birds chirped undisturbed, unaware of what the men below them were capable of doing.

The distance slowly closed between them, until they were a mere five feet apart. Trevor splayed out his arms expectantly.

"Welp," he exclaimed, "here we are. Alone, in the woods. Totally not the place you'd want to kill your best friend or anything, am I right?" His mind wandered to the pistol at his hip, hidden by his flannel shirt and jacket, and whether he'd be able to make a grab at it before Michael could get to his own that he undoubtedly had.

"Very funny, asshole," the older of the two scoffed. He had something in his hands- whatever it was, it was hidden by blue cloth, and made rattling sounds as he wrung it around nervously. Probably not a weapon. Probably.

Michael stood tense and nervous. "Listen," Michael began, and then he sighed, before trying again. "Listen, T, I've been doing a fuckin' lot of thinking these past few weeks. Something ain't been sittin' right with me. Ain't been since you decided to pop up your head from the fuckin' sand dunes all them months ago."

"Hey, your life needed spicing up somehow," Trevor countered. "Sitting on your ass all day baking in the sun's a fucking waste, I had to intervene. It was for your own good."

Michael snapped irritably at Trevor. "I need you to shut the fuck up for once so I can get through this. The less time we spend talking, the better for my own mental health."

Trevor shrugged in dismissal, and allowed Michael to continue uninterrupted.

"Now listen: I fucked you over," he said. "I can't keep count of how many times I've said that now. It's just a matter of fact statement that neither of us can ignore. I turned you in, and Brad in, and now, we're here. I betrayed you, exchanged your lives for my family's. And I thought that I was okay with it. I thought that I was okay with being a fucking asshole if it meant protecting my kids. But then you showed up in my fucking kitchen, and ten years' worth of compounded guilt came crashing down over my fucking head. And then, to make matters worse, I acted like fucking nothing had happened, I pretended that I hadn't lied and cheated my way out of our friendship, out of our whole way of life, and left you for dead. And because of that, there's been a lot of bad air between us. I realized this when you found Brad in Yankton, and we pulled guns out on each other. Best friends, pulling out fucking pistols, ready to shoot at each other! We're another breed of fucked up if that's the foundation of our friendship."

He paused, and looked down at the blue cloth in his hands. A corner revealed a curved section of glinting metal- it didn't belong to a gun, that much Trevor could tell. Still, his right hand twitched, ready to draw if necessary. _Don't trust him,_ he told himself in a silent mantra. _Don't believe his lies. He's setting you up for something, and you have to be wary. Don't let him get the jump on you._

Michael looked up at Trevor through his eyelashes.

"We gotta fix this. I gotta fix this. I gotta make things right between us, get that trust re-established. It ain't right, what we've become. I know there ain't no good excuse for what I did. I tried to fix things between us before, offered you my cut of the Union heist, but I realized- that ain't what you wanted. I should have realized it before. It wasn't ever about the money, not even back in Ludendorff. You function differently. For you, it's just the thrill of a weapon in your hand, a gun in the guy next to you's hand, and the mutual understanding that you ain't gonna off each other. When you found out what I'd done, we lost that understanding. We lost what you valued most."

Trevor's constant strained and focused expression had softened at this point, the lines in his face relaxing as he licked at his chapped lips. Neither of them noted that Michael mimicked the motion.

"And what do you value most, Michael?" He meant it as a sincere question, and to his own surprise, it even came out sounding sincere. To rectify that, he put on a mocking smile and added, "Money and expensive booze?"

Michael gave a small shrug as he shifted from foot to foot. "It varies. My family. My own way of life. My job. I think at the end of the day, though? Probably the lives of the people I love. I didn't leave you because I was a coward, Trevor. I didn't leave because I was fearing for my life. I left because I was fearing for my family's life. It didn't have nothing to do with you. And I knew I couldn't tell you what I had planned because you would fight me 'till your dying breath for being the traitorous bastard that I am."

"Look, I know it was a tough situation," Trevor admitted. "But I... I was hurt, Michael. I was hurt that you could comfortably lie to me for ten fucking years and not say a damn word. I spent ten years grieving for you, when I should have been grieving for Brad all along, and you did nothing to correct me until I had to figure it out for myself."

"And then you lost faith in me."

Trevor nodded. "And then I lost faith in you. You ran away to live your perfect fairy tale life, Brad was dead, and you knew it, and you didn't tell me a damn thing when I showed up ten years later."

"And I'm sorry for that," Michael continued. "And that's why I brought you here today." He took a shaky breath. "I assume you've got a pistol."

He wasn't sure where Michael was taking this, but he felt compelled to nod, and even revealed the pistol at his hip, hidden by his jacket which he held to one side. "Never a day without it, amigo."

Michael held open his own jacket at the same time- both sides. No pistol. No holsters. Nothing. Trevor allowed his arms to dangle by his sides as he stared. Not a single weapon.

"Bullshit."

"No bullshit," the older man corrected him. "You've got yours, that okay, I expected as much."

Michael's hands were shaking. He held out the blue cloth in his hand as he fumbled for something in his pocket. When he found it, he tossed it to Trevor, who barely managed to catch the small metal object. When he looked down to see what it was, he frowned in confusion.

Keys. Handcuff keys.

The jangling sound of the handcuffs in Michael's hands jerked his attention back up. He'd already cuffed one of his own hands, and was now working on blindfolding himself with the blue bandanna he'd concealed the restraining device in. Michael de Santa was blindfolding and handcuffing himself. Trevor was too confused and dumbfounded to speak as Michael explained.

"I brought you here," he breathed in trepidation, "to prove to you that I trust you. Maybe it’s to prove to myself that I trust you more than anything, but shit, whatever. I can't see you, and soon enough, I won't be able to protect myself from you, either. I'll be defenseless." The last word came out sounding like a curse- something Michael had never wanted to experience or use to describe himself. "Yeah, I'm aware that I'm absolutely insane for thinking something like this could ever fix things between us, but it's a start. A horribly convoluted and downright ridiculous start, but a start nonetheless, and I gotta act on it before I lose all my fucking courage."

The sound of the handcuffs clicking closed behind Michael's back echoed through the trees above them. The blue blindfold, secured tightly around his head, covered enough skin that Trevor was positive he couldn't see a single thing, and he watched as Michael's arms tensed, testing the handcuffs. Trevor took a step back as he slowly began to process and comprehend the situation at hand.

"Can't move," Michael whispered. "Can't see. I probably just fucked myself over, but I at least have the knowledge that I'm _pretty sure_ you won't kill me. Other than that..." Michael shrugged. "Whatever you want to do to me, I can't stop. No one around to hear me scream, no one to see me from the sky. You could shoot me and no one would know for days, maybe even weeks that I was dead. Of course, my hope is that you won't do that. But, for just the night, you get to do whatever you want. Cut me to pieces, break all my bones, whatever depraved shit you think I deserve in retaliation to those years I left you alone. That's why we're here. That's why we're out in the middle of the woods."

Trevor stared at Michael, standing unarmed and restrained- a stark contrast to how he always saw him under normal circumstances. It was a sight he'd never beheld before, and even now, he wondered if this was some fucked up dream. Michael wouldn't allow himself to be helpless like this. He swallowed thickly, as he asked the only question he could manage to wrap his lips around:

"Why?"

Michael wasted no time in replying. "Because I deserve it," he whispered softly.

The Canadian paced in place, weighing the gravity of the situation. This was unnatural. This was new, and strange, and oh so tempting. He didn't understand Michael's train of thought one hundred percent, but clearly, Michael understood his. Michael understood that, more than anything, Trevor wanted to hurt him, no strings attached. For the most part, he felt his old friend's remorse and desire to make things right. He knew that Michael truly felt that this was the only way to make things better. He felt like it was sincere enough, despite still feeling a bit skeptical as to Michael's true motives- surely, he couldn't have been doing this purely out of the goodness of his heart. That wasn't Michael. There must have been more to the story that Michael wasn't keen on sharing.

"There's something you're not telling me," Trevor accused bluntly. "The Michael I know wouldn't do something as stupid as this unless he felt like he could gain something from it. So what do you think you're going to get out of this, then?"

Michael had to pause to think about it for a second, but when he found the words, he was quick to explain himself.

"Reconciliation," he told him. "And if not that, at the very least, it'll be a weight off my chest, that I did the most I was comfortable with to make things right with you."

Trevor made a sound, something like a mix between a little kid finally understanding a school lesson, and a skeptical chuckle. He slowly walked towards Michael, boots crunching in the dirt. "So using yourself as a sacrifice to appease an angry god will somehow make you feel better about yourself? You admit that this is more for you than it is for us as a singular unit?"

Michael gulped. "Guess so. I'm pretty much garbage at this point, so why not throw myself in the fucking flames?"

Trevor's smirk grew. At this point, he was almost chest-to-chest with Michael. Roughly, he placed his hands on Michael's shoulders, just to watch him flinch behind that blue blindfold. He shushed Michael reassuringly, whispering in soft, hushed tones.

"You're not trash, Mikey," he whispered. "I hate you and wish you would die a horrible, violent death, but you're not garbage, no, no, not in the slightest."

Already, he could feel Michael's shoulders shaking under his hands. The man didn't say a word, lips sealed shut. Trevor chuckled and patted the side of Michael's face.

"Oh, aren't you just fucking precious?" He teased him, but he didn't make it sound precious the way he said it. Trevor took a step back from Michael, taking in the scene before him one step at a time. Clearly, Michael was having some sort of inner crisis that he needed to take care of, and in this strange, fucked up way, had come to Trevor for help. Michael didn't care enough about Trevor to make this about him- this was Michael with some sort of hidden problem, some inner dilemma. That's how it always was, yet somehow, Trevor couldn't help but feel in the pit of his stomach that something about this particular time was different. Something about the air Michael was putting off around himself was different- the fear was there, and very much a real thing, yet despite the shaking of his body and the way he made it so very clear that he wanted nothing more than to run, Michael stood standing right where he was. Perhaps Michael was being sincere for once after all.

"You're serious about this," Trevor commented.

"Yeah." Michael's voice cracked as he spoke, and he cringed at the sound.

"And it is agreed," Trevor continued, "that you are mine to do with as I please until the sun comes up again?"

"Yeah."

Trevor nodded his approval, though Michael couldn't see it. Maybe Michael was serious after all, offering himself to Trevor's unpredictable whims like this. He decided to test how far he could take this, whether Michael was true to his word or not, or if he could break him. After all, if Michael was his little pawn for the evening, he figured he might as well make the most of it. What the blindfold and handcuffs were necessary for, he couldn't quite picture in his head, but found himself liking the sight of them regardless.

"Alright then, de Shitface, turn around, away from me."

The blindfolded man complied hastily, almost turning around too far in order to appease Philips. Trevor smiled malevolently. Too easy. Too trusting. Well, not for long. He grasped at the chain between Michael's cuffed hands with one hand, the other curling around his upper arm, and threw Michael to the ground with all the strength he could muster. He grunted out, while Michael screamed in terror, falling hard on his right arm.

"Fuck!" He shouted from the ground, curling in on himself in defense. The sleeve of his suit jacket was torn in the fall, revealing the white dress shirt underneath.

"I know, I know, big baby," Trevor crooned, standing over him and kneeling down to drag Michael back to his feet. Michael stuttered and stumbled, frightened without the use of his sight or his arms. "I know, big baby, get back on your fucking feet, come on, there's a big boy, that's it..."

He grabbed Michael's head by the back of his hair, and Michael grunted. "You okay?" Trevor asked him calmly.

"Yeah, I'm okay-"

He threw Michael down to the ground again, this time, making sure he stumbled straight forward right into the ground. His forehead skidded on the rocks, and he hissed as scratches and cuts formed. Trevor brought him back up again. He slapped Michael across the face, and laughed as he stumbled.

"Having fun yet?" he asked Michael sarcastically. "Huh? Are you getting the resolution you were so desperately yearning for?" He grinned a Cheshire grin as he stared at the other man's frown.

"F-Fuck you, Trevor!" The older man spat even while he continued to shake.

Trevor didn't like the sound of that. He kicked him down, reveling in the older man's groans and shouts of pain. "Don't you fucking talk to me that way, Townley! We had a fucking agreement, that you are mine to do with as I so please!"

"No, no. The agreement was," Michael rasped from the ground, "that you could be a complete dick to me, so long as I made it out alive. Didn't say nothing about being a fucking dick right back!" He jerked his head in the direction he assumed Trevor was, and seethed as he spat out a large glob of mucus.

Again, Trevor forced Michael to his feet, only this time, he marched the both of them over and pressed Michael to the side of his truck with the weight of his body pressed against him. Once he was certain Michael was secured, holding his left arm with his own, he yanked out his pistol, switching off the safety and making certain Michael heard it, before holding it to the right side of his head.

"Oh, fuck, fucking Christ," Michael whined, leaning his head away from the weapon.

"What? What? Oh, I thought you trusted me, Mikey," Trevor taunted. That had been too easy, to break him and make him scared all over again. Old habits die hard: Trevor knew that, but it was funny to watch Michael writhe. "No, don't mind that I'm holding a gun against your head, you're supposed to trust me, right?"

"It's a loaded fucking weapon, Trevor!" Michael shouted, though he did nothing to try to escape from under him, despite the awkward position. His hands, though held by Trevor's own, were right on the other man's thigh, and he clenched his fingers nervously. "I'm gonna be a little bit fucking nervous! Your finger isn't on the fucking trigger, right?!"

"Doesn't matter what I tell you," the sociopath sang out. "You're blindfolded. You can't see shit. For all you know, the world's on fire right now." He smiled even wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips again.

"Answer the question, Trevor!" Michael pressed back against him the slightest bit as his confidence wavered even further.

Trevor leaned his head back and laughed, pinning Michael down even harder. This was such a pleasant change in comparison to Michael usually being the one with the reins in their friendship. Trevor felt a surge of power run through his veins, nerves alighting with energy. "There's the Michael I'm familiar with; untrusting and always on his toes. I knew it wouldn't take much to revert you back to your everyday facade. Fucking disgraceful is what it is. You say you'll give me everything, then why are you so scared if you're so confident I ain't gonna kill you?"

"Fuck!" Michael leaned forward, trying to get his head away from the maniac. He shook in Trevor's grasp, uncertain what to do or how to placate Trevor or remedy the situation. Then, after a moment, Michael froze, tensing in Trevor's grip, and he thought quietly for a moment as Trevor smirked at the back of his head. The chuckle threw Trevor off guard, and he eased the pressure off the side of his head. He turned his own head ever so slightly so Trevor could better hear him.

"It ain't even loaded, is it?"

Trevor stuttered.

"Of course it's fucking loaded, what kind of idiot do you think I am?! Gotta be quick on the draw!"

Michael smiled, the corners of the blindfold curling up.

"I know it ain't loaded, T. We've known each other too long for me to not know. When it's just us, you never put in a clip, unless we run into trouble. Of course, when we fight I get panicked and my brain tricks me into thinkin' it's loaded, fight or flight response. But your gun ain't never loaded unless you know you're going into a fight. I know it ain't loaded because you'd never hurt me. You care about me too much. About our friendship too much. So for you to put a gun to my head with the safety off? There's no way it's loaded."

Trevor yanked the gun away from Michael's head, hissing through his teeth. He stared at the weapon in his hands as if it was now contaminated, before roaring his frustration and throwing the weapon off into the distance as hard as he could. Michael cringed at the sound, but didn't move from his position. Michael had Trevor figured out too easily, and it made him seethe and spit like a wild animal.

"Bullshit!" Trevor shrieked, stomping back up to Michael. He jammed his knee hard into the other man's back, in between his cuffed wrists and pressing the air out of his lungs and making him groan. "If you think I'm so fucking soft, then let me ask you this: why haven't you ever shot my ass, huh? Your gun is always- _always_ \- loaded. Doesn't matter where you go, or what you're fucking doing, you always have a loaded gun. You had every chance, every fucking reason to be the person, the hero, to put me in the fucking ground, and you didn't. Ludendorff, when I first found you in LS, Yankton, fucking Merryweather- you never took the fucking shot. Why?"

While Trevor seethed and spat his rage, Michael grew still and quiet. When he took too long to reply, Trevor flipped the man around, hands wrapping around his throat. Michael gulped- he still had room to breathe, but not by much. His eyes darted around under the blindfold, desperately trying to see anything.

" _Why_?!"

"Because-" Michael choked on his words. "Because I- I fuckin' care about you, Trevor! You're my best friend! Best friends don't shoot each other!"

"Bullshit!" He pressed his fingers harder into Michael's throat. Another lie, coated in gemstones and gold. "Nobody gives a shit about me! Least of all you!"

Michael had to struggle for enough breath to speak again.

"That's where you're wrong. I'm still here, ain't I? I ain't shot you, have I? I ain't left you again, have I? You found me, and I ain't tried to bail on you again, so you fucking better believe at least one person on this fucking planet cares!"

His grip fell slack. Trevor let go of Michael's throat, hands curling into fists on his chest as he sucked in air. When Michael's breathing returned to normal, Trevor trembled.

"You never came back." he accused. "I found you, and you're here, but you're saying you ain't gonna leave again. You never came back. _you_  never came back. This... isn't you. And if you'd cared about me at all, you never would have left to begin with!"

From under his blindfold, Michael rolled his eyes. "I had a family, Trevor!" Michael exclaimed softly. "I had to make a choice! If they'd been your kids-"

"I don't-" He inhaled sharply, refraining from pounding his fists on Michael's chest. "I don't relate to that, Michael!" He didn't have children. He didn't have nieces or nephews. He didn't have any family to really speak of, and desperately tried not to talk about them if he could help it.

"Okay then, smart guy," Michael growled out, leaning forward as his handcuffs rattled against the truck. He was almost brushing Trevor's nose with his own at this distance. "Let me put it in words you can understand. If you had to choose between me and Brad- and you can only save _one_ , ain't no other way- if you had to choose between me and Brad, who'd you have chosen? You're obviously going to choose who means the most to you. You're gonna choose who you got the best, most positive connection to, someone you trust. I had to get my family out of there, Trevor: they needed me, and I felt like I could depend on them to make it to the end of the day! They ain't gonna go out and get themselves shot from being fucking morons!"

"Oh yeah, and what do you care if I get myself killed?!" Trevor grabbed Michael by his suit jacket, fingers caked with dirt and blood curling into the expensive material. "You don't fucking care! I'm just another problem in your life, so who cares if I don't come back at the end of the day!?"

He had had enough. Michael wrestled himself out of Trevor's grip, screaming as he pressed himself back into the truck, scratching the chassis with his handcuffs.

"I fucking do!" He screeched at the top of his lungs. "You're the only one in this world that fucking sees through my bullshit! You're the only one that actually _understands_ me! You point me out for the fucking scum that I am! Nobody else does that, and if they do, they don't do it right! _I_ fucking care, Philips! Why the fuck else do you think I'm here right now, handcuffed and fucking blinded?! You're my best fucking friend and honest to fucking god I'm trying to fix things between us, but you always gotta make it so difficult!"

Trevor was still shouting at Michael, but his volume had lowered considerably. His voice shook as he paced in front of the other man. "I fucking-! I fucking... I can't... Let you hurt me again, Townley! I can't handle it! I can't fucking handle it! You revere me like some sort of godlike force of nature, but I'm not! I'm not..."

Trevor gulped.

"I'm not strong enough to see you go again."

Stunned quiet fell over the area. The two of them took the opportunity of the moment to regain their composure. Michael cracked his neck, head tilting from side to side, echoing in the quiet, quickly darkening forest. Trevor stared at his shoes. The sun was nearly gone.

"I'm sorry," the older man whispered into the air.

Trevor whirled back around. "I don't want your fucking pity, Michael," he spat venomously. "I want the old Michael back, Michael _Townley_. Only problem with that is, _I don't know where he died_. I saw where he was shot, but not where he _died_. You get what I'm saying?" Trevor shook his head and fell silent. As he expected, Michael took advantage of the situation.

"Look, we-" he swallowed thickly. "We done a lot of shit we ain't proud of. Both of us. But the sooner we can move on from that shit, the better. I want you to be able to trust me again. I want to be able to trust you again. Only way we're gonna do that is if we can manage to let go of the past."

 _Don't trust him. Don't trust him. Don't trust him_. "I don't want to let go." Trevor looked up to stare into Michael's green eyes, then remembered- blindfolded.

"Face it, Trevor. Yankton's over. Things can't go back to being like that now; world's changed too fast, and so have we, but not in the same way. Please, just let it go."

Trevor grabbed Michael again, with only one hand this time on his upper arm. "I can't- I can't let go." _Don't let him tie you down_.

"Try," Michael commanded him.

Trevor made a choked sound somewhere in his throat. _Don't trust him. Don't let him manipulate you._

"We ain't going back," Michael continued. "Ain't never going to be the same again. You gotta let this go, T. Yankton's over. Brad's gone, and Michael Townley's dead. You said it, not me."

Trevor forced out breath through his teeth, hands placed on the side of the truck bed at either side of Michael's head. His fingers were gripping the metal hard enough that he was bruising his own joints, as he refrained from doing something he'd regret. Michael sounded so sorrowful, like he was more talking to himself than he was Trevor. Trevor knew- _knew_ \- that Michael was hurting. That Michael was reliving these painful memories just as he was. But to what extent? How much did Michael regret the decisions he had made those ten years ago? Maybe he could fake his stories, his death, his whole life, but Michael's emotions were readable like any other person's when he wasn't trying to hide them. Trevor knew Michael hated himself; not only had he actually said it, but it was plain as day to see. But never before had he really _sounded_  like he hated himself. Today, he did.

Michael shifted beneath him, rousing Trevor from his thoughts. The older man was standing straighter, stepping even closer to him. With a heavy shudder, Michael dropped his head, until his forehead was resting on Trevor's shoulder. He was hugging him, to the best of his ability. With his hands secured behind his back, it was all he could do.

Trevor kept his arms on the truck bed.

Minutes passed silently. By this point, the sun had long set, leaving the duo only in darkness. The sounds of birds had been replaced with crickets and the occasional curious cry of an owl or coyote. The trees rustled in the evening wind, bringing about a chill that seeped through their shirts and licked at their skin.

Michael shook with cold, and nervousness, bringing Trevor back to reality again. "What, ain't you gonna say something? About how the past's all we got, we can't just let it go?"

Trevor let the question sit for a moment, enjoying his old friend's awkward squirming.

"No," he told him. Michael stiffened in surprise. "You're wrong though. I just don't have the energy left to fight with you in it. Unless they get time travel to work before my grave finds me, we can't go back. And we can't live like those days are still a reality. That doesn't mean I'm going to forget Yankton. Yankton is all I have, had, and you took it from me. But you've made your shitty choices, and I can't do anything to change that, and neither can you. But here we are, and you're doing what you think is right to fix it. That's noble. I still hate you, but I respect you, Townley."

A pause.

"And I trust you." His lips felt sluggish around the words and syllables, but he managed to get them out. "I trust you not to make the same mistakes again. For my sake, and for Brad's. Lesson learned, right?"

He heard the relieved sigh Michael gave more than he saw it. "Yeah. Lesson fucking learned. Don't leave any survivors, or else they'll track you down and haunt you for abandoning them for ten years."

Trevor gave a bitter chuckle at that. Maybe Michael had changed. Maybe Michael really had learned from his mistakes. Maybe things were going to change, hopefully, for the better between them. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could almost restore their friendship to the way it was before Michael faked his death. Trevor certainly hoped so.

Michael shifted around, trying to get his arms comfortable as he lifted his head from Trevor's shoulder. A thought crossed Trevor's mind; he still had some playtime with Michael, and was determined to use what few scant hours he had left to the fullest. There was also a nagging question at the back of his mind, at peace as it was, and he wondered if he could use it to his advantage, should he choose his words carefully. He wondered what kind of things he could trick Michael into telling him now that their guards were down. He decided to find out.

Trevor gave Michael a lopsided smirk as he crept even closer to the man. "So, Mikey. Just exactly how much do you care about lil' old me?"

"Well," Michael said, but only after a pause that was filled with the quiet sounds of the night, "a guy's gotta look out for his best friend, right? Even if that best friend is a psychotic asshole that's just the slightest bit self-centered- still his friend, at the end of the day, right?"

"I guess. At least, that's my way of looking at it with you. But then again, I look at you, and whenever I look at your face, all I see are these tired eyes, like you're sick of me. Like you don't want me around anymore. It'd be so easy," Trevor implied, "to just stop caring. So easy to just let me do my own thing, and one day, just not get a text or a call, and just know-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Satan." Michael frowned at Trevor. "I don't want to think about losing you, alright? I already thought you were dead, for ten years, and spent all that time thinkin', 'I ain't got a problem with this.' Boy, was I fuckin' wrong. You come back, and I realize just how much I missed you and all the fucked up shit you bring into my world. Don't you imply that you're just gonna die on me."

"Your life would be easier-"

"And I'd be even more of a miserable cunt than I already am," Michael cut in. "I don't... I don't think I could be without you either."

That had taken Trevor by surprise. He looked Michael up and down, looking for any tell-tale signs of lying, and found none.

"It's like..." Michael pursed his lips in thought. "It's like ying and yang- two halves to one coin. I don't think I can be without you and be okay."

"Really?"

Michael only nodded.

In a rush of inspiration, Trevor decided he wanted to try something. It was risky, and would probably send them spiraling back to square one, but Michael had said that he was Trevor's to do whatever he wanted with. Within reason, of course, but that was implied. Right now, all he felt was kindness and relief towards Michael, and he wanted the other man to know that his own emotions weren't unreciprocated. Surely, just one quick thing wouldn't be enough to spook Michael...

Trevor leaned forward, ever so gradually, until his nose was nearly against Michael's. The other man jumped a little when he felt Trevor there, but remained still otherwise.

"What are you doin', T?" he asked.

"Thinking."

Michael chuckled nervously. "A very dangerous pastime."

Trevor grasped Michael by his upper arms, pulling him closer until their chests were flush together. Michael squirmed, but said nothing. He probably thought he was going to get punched for making fun of Trevor's single worded comment.

Trevor would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about this- perhaps not in this exact scenario, but something similar- taking a hold of Michael and pulling him close for a passionate moment, or vice versa. In all honesty, he would have preferred Michael to be the instigator, but it was clear that that was never going to be the case. Between his distrust of Trevor and his loyalty to his wife, Michael, under normal circumstances, most likely wouldn't have made the move ever. But he had relinquished control to Trevor. And Trevor was taking advantage of the moment while he had it, though his heart thudded against his ribcage, attempting to run from what he was about to do. With little ceremony or warning, Trevor pressed his chapped, scarred lips against Michael's softer sun kissed ones.

There was a grunt of surprise; Trevor feared the worst, for Michael to headbutt him and make a mad dash for the hills. He braced himself for any form of retaliation, hands gripping tight around Michael's arms, and eyes screwed tightly closed.

By increments, Michael relaxed. By increments, Michael started to breathe again. By tiny increments, Michael leaned forward towards Trevor, and then, to Trevor's surprise, kissed him back.

Trevor held his place for a moment longer, trying to process what was happening. When it did finally click, he recoiled and stared at Michael with wide eyes. "What the fuck," he found himself blurting out.

Michael cringed at the tone of Trevor's voice as he licked his lips. "Sorry-"

"You're sorry?!" Trevor exclaimed. Then, softer, he inquired, "Why the hell did you let me do it in the first place? That's not- that's not you!"

"I know!" Michael snapped. He directed his blindfolded eyes away from Trevor, anywhere that wasn't focused on him. "I know, I just... can't... help it if... fuck, T. You just- I can't stay away from you! I can't..."

"What are you trying to say, Michael?" Trevor shook him. "Spit it out!"

"I can't fucking help it if your lips feel good, Trevor!" He seemed embarrassed by the fact, frowning deeply at where he assumed (correctly) Trevor was. "I can't... help it if I want to just..."

"Just what, Mikey?"

"I don't know. I don't ever know what I want anymore. One moment, I want to fucking push you off a cliff for the asshole you are, and the next I wanna..." His cheeks flushed. "Wanna hurt you. Differently. Pin you down and..."

Trevor caught on immediately, and his breath caught in his throat. Oh.

"Is that so?"

Michael swallowed and nodded.

Trevor's heart flipped in his throat. He gave Michael a once-over, considering this new information as he beheld his running buddy's broad shoulders, thick arms, thin lips and trembling figure. He'd dreamt of this for so long, dreamt of holding him, worshipping him like he deserved. He decided that he wanted Michael, right here, right now. But he had to exercise some patience: Michael's wants came first, and right now, he wasn't certain if this was a for sure thing, or if they needed to discuss it. He needed verbal confirmation. He needed to ease into it.

"And what do you think Amanda's reaction to this side of you might be?" Trevor wanted to understand what his position with Amanda was for him to even consider fooling around with him.

Michael scoffed. "You kiddin'? She don't know I wanna get rough, much less with the one person in the world that hates her more than any other stripper. Hasn't touched me in months, she has her hand on any dick that ain't mine; only seems fair that I should find my own pleasure any way I can get it. But then..."

He sighed as he searched for the right words to use.

"I ain't got the best imagination. If there ain't some pretty girl in my lap or under me and its just me and my hand, my thoughts run away with me. They're always runnin' to you. About the things I could be doin' with you, or to you... or vice-versa."

"You're certainly being very open," the Canadian commented quietly. He smiled, knowing Michael's desperation very well- of unreciprocated affections, and running to the next best thing as a result.

"Hasn't that been the point of all this?"

"That's debatable," Trevor replied. "Trusting someone and being open with someone doesn't necessarily fall under the same category. Which reminds me... Why the handcuffs? Why the blindfold, what is with this whole getup?"

Michael smiled.

"Told you that you'd have full control. Wouldn't be fair if I was able to fight back, or see what was comin'. Wouldn't have been any fun for you, either."

Trevor smirked. "I'd be lying if I said the helpless look didn't suit you, Mikey."

He pursed his lips. "Yeah, you would think that, T. Look, I... I care about you. A lot. I just... I want our fighting to end. I want us to be actual friends, not some weird, strained pairing. Maybe more than friends." His voice wavered on the last word before something in him almost visibly snapped.

"You know what, fuck it; I want it all," he blurted out. "I'm done lyin' to you. I'm done hiding from you. I _want_  you, T. As sick and twisted as it is, I really, really fuckin' want you."

Trevor's eyelids fluttered as he leaned close to Michael again. Those words were ones he never thought he'd ever hear from Michael's lips in his lifetime, and hearing them now, with Michael so defenseless and needy for him, for his touch, he wanted to give it all to him. But he couldn't make it that simple. He had to make it interesting. After all, Michael was still his to play with for the rest of the night; why not use his authority to his advantage? His hands wrapped around the older man's hips roughly, squeezing into flesh through skin. Beneath him, Michael shuddered.

"Prove it, Townley," he challenged with a snarl.

Like a tidal wave, Michael surged forward, crashing his lips against Trevor's yet again. He couldn't help himself- Trevor moaned softly into Michael's mouth. Thank God the asshole had given up smoking, or else this experience would have been a lot less enjoyable. Instead of smoke and disgusting tobacco and nicotine, Michael tasted of mint and expensive scotch, a flavor Trevor wasn't entirely against. He jammed his tongue into Michael's mouth, the other man's unique flavor flooding his senses. Michael shook again in response, and behind his back, Trevor could hear the chains of the handcuffs straining and rattling.

Trevor loved the way he was trembling, the way his shoulders were pitched forward as he tried to reach out to him, to no avail. He loved the red creeping on his face, just barely visible in the low light of the moon through the trees, the swell of those thin lips, damp with saliva. He wanted to savor this. He wanted to remember this look of Michael's forever, in case this moment were to never present itself again. He pulled away briefly to implant the image into his mind forever.

"Fuckin' perfect," he slurred as his lips twisted into a smirk. Michael gulped and sighed.

"Come on," he whispered urgently, "come on, T, just… stop beating around the bush and fucking _do_  something."

The sociopath chuckled darkly, pressing his entire weight into Michael. His breath caught subtly in his throat when he felt the beginnings of Michael's 'protruding hip' stirring in his slacks. Trevor hid his intake of air with a breathy laugh, hands snaking around the older man's waist to pull him tighter against himself. "Eager?" he inquired to know, and accentuated this question with an upwards grind.

Michael gasped softly, and then bit on his lip, nodding without further sound.

Encouraged by this reaction, Trevor repeated the action, and Michael gave another sharp intake of breath. As he opened his mouth, Trevor collided lips with him again, tongue delving inside immediately. He was certain that he was leaving bruises with how harshly he was grasping Michael's hips, but he didn't care. Let Amanda see them. Let her see that someone was finally giving her husband the physical contact he deserved.

He left a quick kiss on Michael's lips after a long moment of worshipping his mouth, and then another slightly off, making his way to the crook of his neck. The older man tilted his head away at the feeling of warm breath and moist lips, giving a full body shiver. The first pass of Trevor's tongue left him trembling, while the second drew out a low groan from him. When Trevor bit down lightly, he swore and nearly jumped out of his shoes. Almost apologetically, Trevor licked and kissed at the quickly reddening skin.

"Are you- are you always this gentle?" Michael teased him with a breathless chuckle.

"Only with someone who has clearly never been with another man before," he replied as if it should have been common knowledge. Michael took on an embarrassed shade of red at the last part of that statement, but before he could comment on it, Trevor continued talking.

"But you don't know..." He nipped at Michael's neck in warning, and he jumped again. "You have no idea how fucking badly I want to mark you... bruise you... hit you, cut you, use you. How much I want to paint your skin with blood and cum, my cum. How much I want to pound your virgin ass into the fucking mattress. How much I want to just fuck you against the side of the truck, rough and fucking hard so you ain't sitting right for weeks and you _know_  the reason why, because every time you move that fat ass of yours, you feel it, and you know who did this to you."

"Fuck," Michael groaned, "you make it sound like fucking ecstasy to be physically abused like that."

"Ain't abuse unless you don't agree to it, but it sounds to me like that _is_  something you want? Hmm?"

"I fucking want it _all_ ," he pleaded. "Maybe not this time, but trust me- I fucking want it."

Trevor pulled away from Michael shortly, and he heard the sound of rustling, before Trevor leaned up to whisper into the shell of his ear.

"Believe me- I trust you."

There was a click, and the lock on the right cuff fell loose, dangling off of Michael's hand. Trevor grasped his left wrist before he could bring it back around front, and unlocked the second cuff. The sound of the restricting metal thudding to the dirt was satisfying for the both of them. Michael wasted no time rubbing the sore red indents on his wrists, instead using his newfound freedom to wrap his arms around Trevor's neck and continuing where they'd left off.

Unbidden hands wandered up Michael's torso, swiftly slipping buttons through buttonholes until his chest was revealed. Trevor's hands trailed curiously across bare skin, and Michael's chest prickled at the feeling, arching into his touch. When he brushed over a nipple, his cock twitched from within his jeans. Michael bit his lower lip, somewhat hoping Trevor wouldn't notice- he'd been told it wasn't manly to have sensitive nipples- but he knew that when it came to matters of a sexual nature, the man had senses like a hawk. That was only confirmed when Trevor tugged lightly on his left nipple. He released a shaky moan, hips jutting forward into Trevor's thigh.

Trevor pushed Michael back against the truck again, feeling drunk on this dominance. With a quick hand, he tore off Michael's blindfold. Michael blinked rapidly as he adjusted to the darkness of the woods, then tossed his head back as Trevor suddenly cupped his erection through his jeans. God, he couldn't remember getting this hard this quickly in a long fucking time. The contact was short lived, however, and he mourned the loss of the warmth of his hand.

"Back of the truck," Trevor commanded, slipping past Michael and stepping on the rear tire before climbing inside. He offered Michael his hand, which the older man took gratefully.

"What are we doin' back here?" he questioned as he sat on the edge. He watched as Trevor yanked out a coarse blanket from the truck toolbox and unfolded it so it covered a majority of the floor. "And what's that for?"

Trevor only answered him by pushing down on Michael's shoulders, until he was laying on his back in the hard truck bed with Trevor straddling him. "You talk way too fucking much, sugartits."

Michael bit his lip again, a quiet " _oh_ " coming from his lips and hands finding their way to his hips and pulling, urging Trevor to move, grind, anything. Trevor lowered his torso to passionately kiss Michael again, slowly grinding his hips at the same time. Michael groaned breathlessly into his mouth, encouraging his movement with insistent pushing and pulling from his hands. This wasn't normally too arousing for Trevor, but right now, he could feel himself rock hard, and fighting back sounds of his own, if only to hear Michael's.

"I-" Michael tried to speak, but ended up gasping for air instead. "I fucking- too- take my fucking pants off, T. We're- we're not rutting like animals, okay?"

Reluctantly, Trevor stopped his actions. "You seemed to like it," he argued as he fought with his own belt and zipper above Michael.

"It's not gonna be enough," he informed him regretfully. "I ain't what I used to be."

Trevor smirked at that, pushing his pants down to reveal that not only had he gone commando, but that he was hard and twitching, ready to go. Michael gulped at the sight of Trevor's cock, what little confidence he had left shattering as he beheld another erect member for the first time in his life. He'd seen lots of flaccid dicks, even Trevor's, but never anything hard- not in person, at least. His hands remained glued to his sides as Trevor began work on Michael's belt, afraid of making a wrong move.

"What do I do?" he asked no one in particular aloud, though rather hoarsely.

"Nothing," Trevor told him, then quickly added, "this time." He was almost waiting for Michael to say something along the lines of "you mean there's a next time?", but received no response akin to that. He tugged down Michael's jeans and underwear just enough to allow his cock to spring free, bobbing as it came in contact with the cool night air.

"Oh," Michael said suddenly, as if just realizing it, "I swear to God, if I get fucking mosquito bites on my dick-" He found himself cut off as Trevor's rough hand wrapped around him, stroking down firmly. His head fell back against the truck bed, a dull thudding sound echoing through the metal.

"Mmh, mmh, I love me some circumcised penis," Trevor lilted. "You Jewish, Mikey?" He made sure it was difficult for the other man to reply by continuing to stroke him without pausing.

Michael shuddered at the warmth and rough touch of Trevor's hand around sensitive skin. "I'm- I'm very much Catholic, thank you," he choked out, staring down at Trevor's hand as he worked.

The Canadian made a sound of disbelief. His thumb passed over the head of his cock, and Michael jumped. "Wouldn't have known it from this perfect view of your cock in my hand I have here." He twisted his wrist at the head as emphasis to that statement, and Michael made a strangled sound. The tip of his cock glistened with pre-cum, pulse racing through him.

"Okay, secular Catholic," he forced out around clenched teeth.

"Oh, so you're going to be Catholic again, what, come end of the month? Hmm?"

"Will you fucking-" he arched his hips, quickly growing frustrated. The handjob was nice, but it was dry, and most likely wouldn't be enough to give him the pleasure he was ultimately seeking. Damn old age- soon enough he'd need an oxygen tank just so he could get it up. "Will you fucking do something already?"

"I am doing something," Trevor argued, squeezing Michael's dick.

"I meant-"

"Besides, this 'game' we're playing is not over- you still have to do as I say. Until morning, right?"

Michael paled at the thought. Trevor could keep him from true satisfaction and keep him on edge until morning if he truly wanted to. Chances were, the sociopath probably actually had the patience to do it, too. Trevor laughed at the look on Michael's face, letting go of his dick, much to Michael's chagrin, and climbing into the passenger seat of the truck. Michael sat up and watched as Trevor dug around in the glove compartment, and came back with a condom and a nearly empty container of lube. Michael scrunched up his face at the sight, tensing.

"Could my first time maybe _not_  be in the back of a truck in the middle of nowhere?" he asked timidly.

Trevor rolled his eyes. Leave it to Michael de Santa to have next to no sexual creativity. Trevor had had plenty of back-of-the-truck fucks, enough that he started keeping lube and condoms in the glove compartment. Poor repressed Michael probably hadn't had such a liberating experience. "I'll make sure it won't hurt, you pussy. Besides, preparing is my second favorite part of sex."

"Oh yeah, and what's your first?" Michael asked, cringing as Trevor yanked on his pants until they fell off his ankles.

"The actual fucking!" Trevor exclaimed, and he yanked off Michael's underwear in the next second. Michael cried out in shock as his hips were lifted, and then in the next moment his tailbone came crashing down hard on the truck.

"Jesus, Trevor, a little fucking warning?!" he spat out, supporting himself on his forearms to sit up and glare at the other man.

"Oh, bitch bitch bitch," Trevor chanted. He walked forward on his knees until he was kneeling in front of Michael's ass, setting the condom off to one side and drizzling lube over his fingers from the container. Michael took a hold of his own cock, teasing himself lightly to keep from going limp while Trevor did his best to warm the lube despite the cool night air. He took his index finger, lowering it slowly to circle around Michael's puckered hole. Michael twitched, and his breathing came faster as he went rigidly still.

"Don't do that," Trevor warned him, using his free hand to replace Michael's on his cock. "Tensing up like that's the last thing you want to do.

"Can't we just-" he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to stop tensing up so badly. "Can't we just jerk each other off or something? I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if-" Michael cut himself off with a harsh, echoing cry as Trevor pushed in his first finger down to the bottom knuckle. Trevor’s fingers weren’t meaty, by any means, but he wasn’t used to having things jammed up his asshole. He didn't understand how this was supposed to feel good to some people.

"My night," Trevor growled, "my rules. You'll be fine, Mikey." One of the last things Trevor was good at was comforting people in pain or misery, and Michael was no exception to that rule. He continued to stroke Michael's member though as he pistoned his finger in and out, keeping him stimulated while he prepared him. Michael balled up his fists and forced himself to try to relax around the intrusion. It didn't feel natural. It didn't feel right, or pleasurable, it just felt uncomfortable and wrong. Why anyone thought this was supposed to feel good had to have been just as insane as Trevor, or at least close to it.

He had just begun to question why he was going along with this anymore, when Trevor brushed up against something in there, and a bolt of pleasure rushed down his spine and straight to his dick. Michael lurched, and gasped; he hadn't been expecting _that_. Now, with Trevor taunting him with that lopsided smirk he always bore when something sexually excited him, he knew it was more than just a cancer zone he had to look out for and have a doctor poke at every once in a while.

"Only one finger," the man above him murmured, "and I get that delicious reaction from you? This should be a fun night." He pressed that finger into that spot again, and Michael convulsed around him, grunting shakily. Trevor pulled out his finger until just the tip remained, then snatched up the lube bottle, drizzling more of the substance onto his middle finger, before stuffing both into Michael and searching for his prostate again. He found it within seconds this time, and Michael gave a keening cry, legs falling open wider. His breath puffed out above him in condensed bursts, little vapor clouds vanishing as quickly as they'd formed.

"Shit," he half-whispered and half-cried, "shit, shit! That's... that's fucking- oh, fuck..."

Trevor stared down at Michael's flushed face with half-lidded eyes as he prepared him for a third finger, desperately doing everything in his power to keep from taking his hand back from Michael's cock and wrapping it around his own as it twitched and seeped. He may have been talkative, but when it came down to sex, Trevor seemed to lose all his words. He wasn't a dirty talker, and he didn't dish out praise or compliments when the final hour approached- not until he was close and he lost control of himself. Mostly, it was that when his mind switched into sex mode, he found himself without any desire to speak whatsoever. But, in part, it was also that he wanted to hear the moans and the pants of his partner, above his own quiet grunts and half-whispered oaths; with that in mind, Michael was a plethora of sounds that he never wanted to miss. For years, he had waited and dreamt of this, fearing that he would never have it, and now that he did, he was going to commit every gasp, every grunt, every half-whispered plea to memory for the rest of his life.

By the time Trevor deemed Michael ready for him, the older man was twitching and breathing shakily, flushed down to his chest as he eyed Trevor with lust and... was that affection? Michael seemed to have stars in his eyes. Trevor shook his head to himself to banish that idea, pulling out his fingers and wiping them clean on the side of the blanket he'd laid out. He tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth, yanking out the contraceptive and rolling it over himself before stroking over the plastic with a lubed hand.

"Is this really gonna work?" Michael asked hesitantly, shifting around with built-up arousal. His leaking cock left drips of pre-cum on his exposed stomach. "I mean, trust me, I've seen it done, but will it actually feel...?"

"Guess we'll find out, huh?" Trevor bit his lower lip and grinned, wrapping Michael's legs around his waist and positioning himself in front of that tight ring of muscle. The heat itself was already driving him crazy, and it was all he could do not to plunge in immediately. As animalistic as Trevor was, he knew to at least have some decency taking his best friend's secondary virginity. With painstaking care, Trevor pressed the first part of his length inside of Michael, fingernails clawing into exposed thighs on a harsh gasp as the tight, wet heat clenched hard around him.

Michael's vision burned black; it wasn't that he was in pain- it was the pressure, the thickness, the very thought that another man's cock was inside of him. He wasn't certain whether to scream in uncomfortable fear, or beg for Trevor to just sheath himself already so that he could at least walk away from this with the knowledge of what it was like to feel full of someone else. Vaguely, he knew that this could have hurt a lot more, and he was suddenly extremely thankful for the other man’s careful preparation. His subconscious decided for him what to say when he took too long to come to a conclusion on what to say.

"Deeper," he begged, and his throat rumbled with the low pitch of it. "Just get on with it already, would ya?" He was shocked at the neediness in his own voice, foreign to his ears, and even as he grit his teeth against the pressure and the stretch, he couldn't deny the insistent throbbing of his member at the strange feeling of being so full.

Trevor growled down at Michael, the corner of his mouth curling into a cocksure sneer. "Your wish is my command," Trevor said, and with a harsh thrust of his hips, he slid in to the hilt.

Michael's legs pulled Trevor in even tighter, and his back arched off of the blanketed truck bed as he tried to make himself more comfortable. He grunted as Trevor's fingernails tightened on his thighs, leaving angry red crescent indents in the skin.

"Keep squirming," Trevor warned through clenched teeth. "See what happens."

"Fuckin' bite me," Michael spat, fingers fisting the blanket sporadically. He didn't need Trevor dictating every last second of this encounter- even if he had said he was Trevor's, there had to be some place he could draw the line.

"I'll take that as an invitation."

Before Michael could realize the meaning behind those words, Trevor leaned down to Michael's neck, and closed his teeth around the left side, pinching with canines and incisors. Michael's cry was cut off as Trevor clamped down, instead moaning out, to his own shock. His cock gave a pained throb, oozing more of his seed onto his stomach, trapped between his and Trevor's abdomens. But the sociopath kept biting, harder and harder, until, with a twitch, he broke sensitive skin, and fresh blood welled into Trevor's eager and hungry mouth.

Michael's hands shot up from the blanket, instead wrapping desperately into Trevor's jacket for leverage, something to keep him grounded and from losing his mind. It should have hurt- he should have been screaming and shaking, begging Trevor to stop, to let him go, but all he felt where teeth met skin was a white hot, euphoric burning that sailed down to the tip of his cock, and even though he did scream, his voice failed him. All that came out was a rush of air.

And then Trevor began to move inside him. He pulled out until just the crown of his cock was seated inside him, before pressing himself back in to the base. All the while, his teeth didn't leave Michael's skin, tongue lapping earnestly at the rivulets of blood from the wound. His body shook in animalistic desire, hands wandering up to bare hips to get a better hold of his conquest, better leverage to fuck into his prize. Immediately, he set his pace hard and fast, feeling no more need to be gentle with the man beneath him.

The other man's jaw fell slack, wobbling uselessly at the air as he was pounded into ruthlessly. The angle was sharp, and Trevor's cock brushed past his prostate repeatedly, though not necessarily on every thrust. It hurt, and it _burned_ , and everything pulsed white, and his arousal was so strong, he could almost smell it on himself.

The truck rocked on its suspension, creaking back and forth under the pressure of the two men fucking like primal beasts in the bed. The sound itself annoyed Michael, but there wasn't anything he could do about it- not while Trevor was balls deep inside of him and grunting so deliciously into his ear. There was that, and then there was the way Trevor would whimper out a curse or oath or compliment every now and then. Michael didn't notice it at first, but he couldn't ignore it for long. Not when Trevor was so close, and those whimpers and moans- a clear sign that he was falling apart inside of Michael- sounded so _good_  coming from his mouth. He wanted to tell Trevor how good he sounded. He wanted to tell Trevor how good he smelled, how warm and comforting his body felt even as he ground inside of him, making him cry out; how long he'd craved to be held and praised like this, by him, _especially_  by him. He wanted to tell Trevor how long he'd denied his own feelings, how he always had to push himself away from him, because fuck, Trevor made him want and crave and feel so SICK about himself, made him feel wrong. He wanted Trevor to know he was sorry he spent more than twenty years beating around the bush and that, because he was a selfish prick, all those wasted years were lost, time they could never get back or make up. But he was overwhelmed with physical pleasure, unable to form true coherent thought, and as a result, could only grunt and moan in kind with Trevor. In his lust addled mind, he hoped it would be enough.

"Fuck," he moaned, and Trevor finally dislodged his teeth from his throat, lips shining red with blood, and he looked down at Michael's flushed face. Wordless sounds and grunts filled the air around them a while longer. Vaguely, though, Michael became aware that Trevor was slowing down, thrusts coming less insistently, less like pounding and more like shallow grinding, and the grip of his hands on his hips also fell slack. He peeled open an eye- when had he closed his eyes?- and huffed at him in annoyance.

"The fuck are you doing?" he demanded to know. His body jolted when Trevor's rolling motions caused his prick to press hard into his prostate, and he realized his stomach was sticky and cold from how much pre-cum had gathered there. There was no way that had just gotten there in the last few minutes. How long had they been fucking? More importantly, how the hell was he still hard after so long?

Trevor was flushed and looking down at him, dull brown eyes glinting in the moonlight as he licked at his bloodstained lips. He looked pained, in a way, and his forearms were shaking from supporting him. His adam's apple bobbed on a nervous swallow. And for a few seconds, that was all there was, was staring and needy grinding. Then, Michael heard a whimper in his throat, before Trevor breathed out:

"I love you."

He blinked, unsure if what he'd heard was just a manifestation of his own mind. Did he just say-? "Trevor-"

"I love you, Michael," he said again, only this time, it was more like a sob, and he resumed his brutal pace from before, only instead of grunting and growling, he was peppering blind kisses all over Michael's mouth in desperation. "I love you," he murmured between pecks, "I love you, please, please don't leave me again, please please..." His breath ghosted hot down his face, hot and passionate and full of desire and need.

With a shuddering sigh, Michael reciprocated the motion, lips caressing against chapped and scarred ones. He put his hands on either side of Trevor's head and held him lovingly, the pressure and pleasure surging higher and higher in his gut. He felt two drops of something wet on his cheeks, knowing immediately they were tears. He cringed at the feeling, and there was a definite pain in his heart from knowing he'd caused Trevor this turmoil.

"I know, baby," Michael consoled him against his lips, breath shaking on each thrust. "I know, I know. I fucked up. It's okay. It’s alright now. I'm here. I ain't goin' fuckin' anywhere. I'm stayin' right here. Fuck, T, I'm here. I'm here, I'm-" he cut himself off on a sharp inhale as Trevor angled his hips to more sharply hit him where he needed it, and felt his climax building in a flash. He bit his lip, catching Trevor's own in the process, and the other man bit back a sobbing moan as he wrapped his arms around Michael's lower back.

"Trev-Trevor, Christ, I love you," he spewed out, fingers tangling in thinning brown hair. He wasn't going to last long at all. "Oh, shit, Trevor, shit, ah, I love you, fuck, _fuck_ , please, please, fuck _please_ , I'm gonna- fucking-!"

His mouth opened in a silent cry as he reached the precipice, doing everything in his power to keep his eyes open and on Trevor as he tensed and came hot and heavy between them. His cock twitched and emptied everything it had, stripes of cum painting his and Trevor's stomachs. His shivering cry as aftershocks raced through him probably could have been heard all the way back to the highway, but he didn't care. He couldn't afford to care anymore. Trevor groaned as his thrusting stuttered for one moment as Michael pulsed around him, before resuming his pace.

"So good, so good Mikey," Trevor praised him with shaking breath, sloppily thrusting into Michael as the other man's pulsing finally brought him close to the relief he had been seeking. "So good, you're so beautiful, so good to me, fuck, shit! I love you, Michael! I fucking love you, please, don't go, don't ever leave, I need you, I need-!" And then he was tumbling over right after Michael, dropping his head to muffle his relieved sob into Michael's shoulder, hips twitching and shaking as he spilled into the condom. He moaned with complete abandon as he shook through the last of his aftershocks, clinging to Michael like a lifeline and gasping like he was starved for air.

Michael gulped- God, watching that was hot- and shifted uncomfortably, the feel of the other man's dick inside him quickly becoming overstimulating. He beared through it while Trevor came back to his senses, kissing in the crook of Michael's neck on muttered praises and words of affection that made him feel sick to his stomach. But, after a while, the words stopped, and they fell into silence.

Eventually, Trevor pulled out, to Michael's mixed relief. The sociopath nearly yanked the condom off of himself, tying it off and tossing it somewhere outside of the truck carelessly. Michael reached for his pants and underwear, already beginning to shiver as the cold of the night finally made itself known again, but not before grabbing a corner of the blanket in the truck bed to clean off the quickly cooling cum on his stomach.

They were both dressed again within five minutes. They sat across from each other as they settled, Trevor at the head of the truck bed, Michael shivering towards the back. He was not making eye contact with Trevor, and was curled up on himself to stop his shivering. At his friend's shaking form, Trevor patted a spot next to him with a smirk.

"Los Santos sunshine has made you soft, Townley. You used to prance around in snow like it was fucking sand. Come on, I'll keep you warm."

Michael eyes him warily, already beginning to feel the sore aftermath of the sin he'd just committed. Or, rather, sins. If he remembered his bible correctly, there were at least three things wrong with what he just did.

"Come on,” Trevor urged him with a roll of his eyes. "I don't bite."

Michael pointed at the left side of his neck. The entire side of his neck was swollen and flushed red, and there were angry red welts and scabs beginning to form where Trevor's teeth had pierced sensitive skin.

"Much," Trevor clarified as he beheld the extent of his damage.

"How the fuck do I explain this to Amanda?" Michael spat somewhat harshly. "That some random asshole pinned me down, tried to fucking eat me? You didn't think that one through, T. She’s gonna see this and hang my fucking head over the mantle."

Trevor blinked, somewhat appalled that Michael could speak to him this way after they'd fucked like that. After everything they'd said and done- but perhaps that was just Michael, being defensive as always. "I just gave you the best sexual experience of your life," Trevor countered, though it didn't sound like his usual banter. Weaker. "Why don't you show some fucking gratitude, you ungrateful prick?"

Michael's eyes normally would have been screaming to spill Trevor's blood by this point, but something in them softened now. Trevor stared at him with expectant eyes, waiting to hear his own counter, and for them to go back to square one, screaming and pointing fingers. With a sigh and a mutter, Michael crawled across the truck bed to Trevor's side, sitting to his left with a grunt. They sat shoulder to shoulder in quiet for a bit longer, only the sound of crickets breaking through the quiet night. Without looking over, Trevor placed an arm over Michael's shoulders, pulling him closer as his gaze turned skyward. For a moment, Michael seized up, and Trevor feared he would back away like times in the past. But he stayed. And he let Trevor stay.

"We-" Michael looked away. "We're never going to be okay again, are we? After everything I've done to try to fix us, it ain't gonna be enough, is it, T? We just- we're not gonna be okay." He sounded defeated and remorseful about it.

"Were we ever to begin with?"

The older man looked up at that, bearing a pained expression that Trevor could even say something like that. But as he looked around them- as he remembered what had brought them hurtling towards this point, and traced it all back to the moment of truth, the moment he fucked up that first job and Trevor shot the fucker in the eye with a flare gun, all those twenty years ago and then some, he knew the truth.

"No." he admitted quietly. "But it was fun to pretend that maybe we once were."

Trevor looked over at Michael through narrowed eyes, trying to see if he could read what he was truly thinking. What was really going in that diabolical head of his. But, as always, his picture perfect facade had returned once again. Michael had once again become unreadable. His head clunked against the back of the truck with a sigh. This whole night had just been another temporary fix to their fucked-up dynamic. Michael had come barging in hoping it'd be the final solution, but it wasn't. There was no final solution. There was no easy way out, and now, things were just even more complicated. Where was this going to take them? How was this going to change the way Michael looked him in the eye? And what he'd said... "I love you." Those were words he couldn't take back. He meant them, but what did it mean when Michael said it?

Then, there was laughter to his left, disrupting him from his thoughts.

"You know," Michael said to him as he looked at his phone clock, "you've got another nine hours to kill with me before I have to take back control of my life."

The Canadian glanced over at Michael, giving him an incredulous look. He was still doing this? After what Trevor had done to him, he was still letting Trevor push him around? He decided, ultimately, to just accept it. "Since when did you have control of your life?" Trevor asked jokingly, grateful for the excuse to change his train of thought.

"Not since you came in to it."

Trevor inhaled sharply, grinning through his teeth. "You know you love me," he implied quietly.

The silence seemed to deafen him as he awaited Michael's response. Minutes passed. Then, a whisper, that sounded so final and resigned, like Michael was finally admitting something to himself. Like something had cracked yet again, and another piece of him he’d tried so desperately to hide from the world- most of all Trevor- came tumbling out.

"Yeah. I do."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the small novel, but there wasn't really a good place to split this into two chapters.  
> Tumblr: the-female-gaymer.tumblr.com


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